


Flufftember #16

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26727658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Flufftember prompts:Barson - lowkey fluff, post-UC (kept in touch, no established relationship)This is actually a sequel toA Misunderstanding
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 88
Collections: Flufftember 2020





	Flufftember #16

Barba grinned when the door opened, even though the bottom half of his face was covered by his mask. “Hey,” he said, feeling unexpectedly giddy at the sight of her.

She smiled. “Hey,” she answered. She pushed the door wider. “Come on in.”

“Uncle Rafa!” Noah shouted, rushing toward him as Barba stepped into the apartment, but the boy slowed to a stop several feet away and glanced uncertainly from Barba to Benson.

“Hey, Noah,” Barba said. It hurt to know that Noah was, with good reason, worried about hugging him. Barba had been carefully quarantined since returning to New York; he hadn’t even seen his mother in person, and he’d disinfected everything he’d had delivered—and everything he’d brought with him. He set a plastic bag on the floor. “Just let me wash my hands real quick—just to be safe,” he said, thinking about the taxi door handles he’d touched. He stripped his coat off and hung it on the rack before heading to the bathroom to wash his hands.

“Go get the card you made,” Benson told Noah quietly.

When Barba emerged, he looked at Benson and pointed to his mask. She nodded, smiling, and he pulled it off and slipped it into his back pocket. Then he looked at Noah and gestured, and Noah hurried over to hug him. Barba squeezed him, suddenly overwhelmed by how much he’d missed seeing them both.

“You’ve grown so much,” Barba said, ruffling the boy’s hair when Noah pulled back. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” Noah answered. “I made you a card!”

“You did? Thank you.” Barba looked at the folded construction paper Noah handed him. The front was covered in glitter and stickers, and said _Uncle Rafael_ in carefully-printed letters. Inside, the card—also in Noah’s handwriting—said: _Welcome home!! Love, Noah_. Barba felt an unexpected lump in his throat, and he reached out to pull the boy into another quick hug. “Thank you,” he repeated.

“Go get washed up for dinner,” Benson said, and Noah disappeared into the bathroom to obey. She and Barba looked at each other. “You look good,” she said.

He rubbed his hand over his freshly-trimmed beard. “I’ve almost forgotten what my face looks like without this thing.”

“I haven’t.”

Grinning, he stepped forward and held out his arms, and she moved into his embrace without hesitation. He kissed her cheek automatically before tightening his arms around her, but then he felt compelled to say: “I’ve been totally isolated except for the ride here, I promise.”

“Mm, I know you wouldn’t do anything to put Noah at risk.” She pulled back to look at him. “Supper’s ready. Hope you’re hungry.”

“I am.” Before she could pull too far away, he tugged her in for another hug. She laughed quietly, squeezing him in return, but he wasn’t afraid of mockery. He knew she’d missed him, too.

“We should talk about that thing that Noah overheard me saying to Rollins,” Benson whispered, and Barba smiled despite the small, pleasant shiver that ran down his spine as her breath tickled his ear. “Later.”

“Mm. I think—” 

“Uncle Raf, why do you got a beard?”

“Why do I have a beard?” Barba asked, turning toward the boy as Noah walked out of the bathroom. “I’m getting a headstart on Halloween.”

Noah laughed, surprising Barba by grabbing his hand when he got close enough to reach. “That’s almost as far away as Christmas!”

“It is. Well, the truth is, I was incognito and I guess I got used to it. I’ll probably shave it before too long, though.” Barba cast Benson a smile as he let Noah tug him along toward the dinner table.

“Is incongito like undercover?” 

“ _Incognito_ is very much like undercover, but in my case for less noble reasons,” Barba said. “Where do I sit?” he asked, eyeing the table where three places had been set. It was a pretty safe bet, judging by the glasses: plastic juice cup, tumbler, wine glass.

Noah pointed to the plate beside the tumbler. “Right here. Uncle Rafa, did you bring me a present?”

“Noah,” Benson admonished. She pointed at Barba’s glass and raised her eyebrows, and at his small nod she went to get the bottle of scotch.

“A present?” Barba asked. He widened his eyes in mock-alarm. “Oh no, it’s not your birthday, is it?” 

“Nooo, but you’ve been gone a _long time_. You should bring me something to say sorry.”

Barba laughed, but before he could answer Benson spoke from the kitchen. “Speaking of saying sorry.”

Noah grimaced and sighed, dropping heavily into his chair. “ _Mom_ , he’s not even _mad,_ ” he complained.

“Noah.” She poured scotch into Barba’s glass, answering with a smile when he murmured thanks. “We talked about this.”

“O _kayyy_ ,” the boy said. He looked at Barba. “I’m sorry I called you and said a bad word and told you what Mom and Aunt Amanda said even though it’s not my fault Mom said she wanted to—”

“Noah Porter Benson, you will go to your room if you finish that sentence,” Benson said as Barba choked on his first sip of scotch. 

Noah slumped in his chair and crossed his arms. 

Barba coughed, taking another small drink to soothe the burn in his throat. An awkward silence descended for several seconds before Barba said, “I appreciate the sentiment in wanting to warn me, Noah, but your mother’s right. We can’t talk about other people’s private conversations. And as a matter of fact, I do have a present for you, it’s in the bag over by the door. But,” he added quickly when Noah started to slide off his chair, “let’s save it for after spaghetti, alright?”

“Okay,” Noah agreed reluctantly. 

“Besides, you have to tell me everything you’ve been up to while I was gone. We have a lot of catching up to do—how’s dance going?” Barba grinned as Noah’s face lit up.

Benson touched Barba’s shoulder on her way back to the kitchen, pausing for a moment when he reached up and covered her hand with his own. 

* * *

“Can we have cookies?” Noah asked. He was hugging a large, plush ear of corn with _Iowa_ stitched in multicolored letters across the bottom, a toothy smile that Benson found slightly unnerving, and a tuft of fake cornsilk hair jutting from the top of its head. 

“You can have cookies if you know how to bake cookies,” she said, leaning back in her chair and sipping her wine. It was her second glass, and the mood throughout dinner—despite the rocky start—had been light and cheerful.

“You just cut pieces off the tube thing and put them on the pan,” Noah said, rolling his eyes, and Barba hid his grin in his scotch. 

“For your information, wiseguy, we’re out of premade cookie dough. That means if you want cookies, you have to make them from scratch.”

“But I don’t know _howww_.”

“We have ice cream.”

“But I want cookies.”

“What did I say?”

“Actually, I think cookies sound great,” Barba said. Benson raised her eyebrows at him. Noah perked up, shooting his mother a smug look at having Barba back him up. The smugness turned to uncertainty a moment later when Barba looked at him and said, “Why don’t you and I make a batch?”

“Um.”

“You two are going to make cookies?” Benson asked, unable to hide her amusement.

“Olivia,” Barba said, “this is the twenty-first century. Men are almost as capable as women.”

She laughed. “Of course, I would never doubt your capabilities. I was simply clarifying. You want a refill on that?” she added, pointing to his glass.

“Please,” Barba answered with a grin.

* * *

“Thank you,” Benson said, taking the cookie—still warm and laid on a paper towel—from Noah. 

She was sitting on the sofa, although she’d spent a lot of time near the kitchen island watching them make cookies, and then clean the mess while the cookies were baking. In fact, she’d gotten quite a bit of it on camera: Barba teaching Noah how to crack an egg, and then calmly fishing the broken shells out of the dough; teaching him how to follow a recipe, including the difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon and how to read the measuring cups; explaining that it was customary to sample a healthy dose of chocolate chips before mixing them in, to make sure they tasted alright.

Now, she ignored the flour clinging to her son’s curls, and the melted chocolate smeared around his mouth. His joy was contagious, and life had been more stressful than usual lately. This evening had been something she and Noah needed, and she hadn’t realized how badly.

And judging from the look on Barba’s face, he’d needed it just as much as they had.

“You didn’t spit in mine, did you?” she asked.

“Uncle Raf wouldn’t let me,” Noah deadpanned before breaking into a peal of laughter. 

“Okay, well you need to go take a bath and get ready for bed. A quick bath, understand?”

“But you’re not leaving, are you?” Noah asked, turning to look at Barba. 

Barba glanced at Benson. “I think I can hang out a little while. Say goodnight.”

“Read me a book?” Noah asked hopefully.

Barba smiled. “Sure.”

“Uncle Raf—” 

“Noah, bath,” Benson reminded gently.

“Okay, but Uncle Raf, you should sleep over! We can make breakfast together!”

“I was thinking you and I could make dinner tomorrow night, if it’s alright with your mom.”

“Can we, Mom?” Noah asked excitedly.

She laughed. “You think I’ll turn down someone making me dinner? But go start your bath, it’s almost bedtime.”

“Fine.” Noah grabbed his stuffed corn-on-the-cob toy. “But I’m taking Orville.”

“That can’t go in the—Orville?”

“Orville Redenbacher,” Barba said quietly.

“Popcorn! Get it? PopCORN?”

“Did you help with that?” she asked Barba.

He chuckled. “Surprisingly, no. Except the pronunciation. He read it on the jar of popcorn in the cupboard.”

“Don’t take Orville in the water,” she called as Noah disappeared into the bathroom with the toy. She looked up at Barba, who was still standing beside the sofa. “Is this safe?” she asked, holding up the cookie.

“ _That_ ,” he answered, pointing a finger at it, “is the best cookie your son and I have ever made. There’s _almost_ the right amount of everything and hardly any eggshells.” He gestured toward the couch. “May I?”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Obviously,” she said, biting into the cookie as he sank onto the cushion beside her. “Hm. This is actually very good.”

“I know,” he laughed. “Baking is just one of my talents.”

“Are you kidding?”

“I’m not.”

“Then maybe you _should_ stay for breakfast. Make a...quiche or something.”

“A _quiche_?” he repeated with a laugh. 

“Mm,” she agreed, taking another gooey bite. “Plus you wouldn’t have to worry about disinfecting yourself all over again before dinner.”

“Huh. That would definitely make things easier. You have a little chocolate…” He swiped the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “The couch seems pretty comfortable.”

“It is. But we can discuss sleeping arrangements after Noah’s asleep.”

“If I recall correctly, we have a _couple_ of things to talk about.”

“Well. This one might go hand in hand with the other,” she said. She held the half-eaten cookie toward his smiling mouth. “Bite?”

“Not without permission,” he answered, his smile stretching into a grin.


End file.
